The Distant Shadow chapter 1
by tootsiek
Summary: Post Reichenbach. It's been one year since Sherlock's tragic death. What will happen when John has an emotional breakdown after he visits Sherlocks grave? When returning back to teh flat a truck collides with John on the street. Will Sherlock come out of hiding to help his friend or will he play the part of a distant shadow. ONE SHOT! FINISHED


I do not own Sherlock and never will. Season 2 spoilers

Summary: It's been a year since Sherlock's "death." John finds himself hurt and not so alone. Is Sherlock watching over him or is it his mind playing tricks on him.

ENJOY!

The man sat up in his bed; awoken from his own screams. Beads of sweat lined his forehead as he fell back against his pillow. Today marked the dreadful anniversary of the day his world had stopped turning it had been one year since John Watson had spoken to his best friend and Sherlock had been alive to respond. The blogger would occasionally find him mumbling useless words to the gravestone, but it was never like the real thing.

Watson pulled himself from the bed, dragging his feet toward the cupboard. Two cups of tea were made and brought over to the couch. By now it was his daily routine, make a cup of tea for himself and Sherlock. He sat, staring out the window becoming more and more agitated.

'The world loses the best man that ever walked this planet and it doesn't even phase anyone else. They all just continue on with their lives as if he was just an imaginary friend that disappeared with their childhood.' It began to anger him that he had to suffer through every passing moment as everyone else lived on, happy and joyous. He lost his best friend, flat mate, his Sherlock.

"John?" The door crept open and the lovely Mrs. Hudson entered, "I brought you some breakfast."

"No, thank you."

A look of pity flashed through her old eyes as she saw the second cup of tea sitting by Sherlock's old spot. "John, you must eat. You are too thin and I worked hard to make this for you. Now if you don't-"

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson." The doctor was taking the tray from her with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I am sure it will be lovely."

"I'll be downstairs if you need me."

The blogger watched as the woman left him alone, once again.

John didn't recall most of the day, but somehow he found himself in the familiar graveyard.

"Hello, Sherlock." He paused wondering why he was once again speaking to a stone with his friend's name carved into it. "It was an entire year ago. Feels more like 10." The man tried to put a fake smile on for no one.

"I...I've been missing you an awful lot. Sherlock," He paused almost hoping for a response. "I've never been so alone-so scared in my life." The man's voice cracked. "Something I never told you...umm...I trusted you so much. I never understood how to truly be fully open to someone until I met you. I could be myself because you were accepting. You were my best friend and I'm sorry because you gave me everything I couldn't give you. Sherlock, I always wanted you to be able to talk to someone and trust someone. I tried to be that person for you, but I wasn't." a tear fell from the doctor's eyes. "I would do anything to trade places with you. The world doesn't deserve to lose you." Watson tried to keep himself together. "I didn't deserve to lose you." With the last words his knees gave out, falling desperately to the grass before the grave. Tears flowed out from John's trembling body.

Sherlock watched, hidden from his friend, listening to every word the man had said. His stomach clenched with guilt. The stoic man had never been one for emotions or feelings, but Sherlock had never seen someone so broken and ready to give up, especially the one person he considered a friend-no a best friend. Holmes finally had to turn away, not being able to watch his blogger suffer in the agony that he had caused.

It took some time, but eventually John collected himself and stumbled out of the graveyard. He decided to walk back to 221B Baker Street. The doctor watched as friends roamed the streets laughing and talking. He missed the times when people envied the relationship between himself and Sherlock. His mind was wandering freely about the dreadful year he had had.

A truck horn pulled him back to reality. Watson looked up to see the vehicle flying in his direction. Time slowed itself with seconds before the truck would hit him. "JOHN!" A scream broke through the panic. The blogger recognized the voice, his head shot up staring at someone who looked identical to Sherlock Holmes. Worry etched deeply into the dead man's face. The blonde man froze in his place as the truck collided with his small, fragile body.

Sherlock watched in horror as his best friend was slammed into by a deadly vehicle. Watson's body flew into the air before crashing back onto the cold concrete. "NO! JOHN!" Holmes took off sprinting toward his friend. He stopped as he came closer; he looked dreadful with life seeping out through cuts. The man with the trench coat dropped to the ground, holding the smaller body in his arms.

"Oh gosh," the driver stood staring.

"If you ever want to see the light of day you will call 999 and disappear from my sight, immediately," Sherlock growled before turning his attention back to John.

The man listened and called for help immediately.

"John, it's ok. I'm here." Sherlock's eyes searched, determined, for John's, but there was no response. The doctor was out cold. The conscience man raced to check for a heartbeat. There was one;slow and weak, but it was present. Holmes ran his hands through John's stained red hair. "Oh John, you-you mean the world to me, please, be alright. I can't lose you….like you lost me." His head dropped, sadly. "I want you to know that I trust you and need you, don't leave me. I won't be able to go on." This time it was Sherlock who let a tear slip down. He desperately clenched his doctor closer. "You made me complete, John. You gave me everything that I could ever ask for! You were my friend and I envied you so much. If you leave me I won't be able to forgive you. Just-just stop it. Wake up, for me! I will do anything for you to live. I need you."

EMTs surrounded the two of the men and Sherlock knew he had to disappear quickly. The emergency people pulled Watson from his best friend's grip. Holmes took the opportunity to get away and watch from a safe distance.

After watching the ambulance drive away he pulled out his phone.

'My office, now.'

-M.H.

Sherlock slammed the door behind him as he entered Mycroft's office. "I thought we had an agreement." Mycroft spoke so casually.

"That doesn't include watching him be killed before me."

"He had to."

The man with curly hair growled, "Not my choice."

"You agreed."

"To keep him protected! Not get him killed because he was walking back from my grave!" Sherlock raised his voice.

"I do care about John and I have my people watching over him."

Sherlock glared, "Obviously they are doing an impeccable job. Which one of them was driving the truck?"

Mycroft sighed, "Don't let him see you."

"I will do what I have to," With that the conversation was over and both knew it.

It was nearly two days later when Sherlock sat next to John's bedside. The blonde man had bandages wrapped around his head, abdomen, and left arm. He hadn't woken up and they weren't sure when he would.

Holmes sat completely still, staring, with his hand clenched to John's. "Come back to me John."

The blogger seemed to wince. Holmes noticed his friend was waking up, but as much as he wanted to, he couldn't let Watson know he was ok.

Once placing a water bottle next to the bed he was getting ready to leave until he heard a cough. Sherlock spun around as John opened his tired eyes. The tall man dove to the ground, sliding himself under the bed.

"Hm, wh-where am I?" John's voice was so weak. "Sh-Sherlock?" His voice seemed broken enough as is, but when he spoke calling out for a dead man, it could break anyone's heart; especially the man under the bed.

Holmes felt the guilt built up, thicker and thicker.

The door opened and someone entered, but whom?

"Molly?" John's voice was there again.

"Hello John? I'm so glad you're awake. I will grab a nurse for you. How do you feel?"

The injured man weakly tried to stay awake, "Not well."

Before Molly could answer something grabbed her ankle making her jump and squek. Luckily, it didn't seem to faze the patient. She glanced down and saw Sherlock smiling back up at her.

"Uhh-so John are you sore?" Molly's voice was shaky.

He nodded, not capable of talking much more.

"Alright, well I'm going to increase you morphine drip. Just try and get some sleep."

He seemed to already be passed out by the time she increased the drip. "Alright, Sherlock, you're good."

"You drugged him?"

"No, I simply created a diversion. Does Mycroft know you're here? You really shouldn't be." Molly lectured.

"Please, he can't control me."

Molly glanced toward John, "He's not doing well."

"He just woke up? How is that doing well?"

"I mean without you. He needs you to come back," Molly pleaded.

Sherlock sighed, "I never actually left-"

"Sherlock,"

He glanced back toward the precious sleeping figure, "Thank you for watching out for him."

"We better get going before a nurse comes in. You aren't supposed to be in here."

Holmes disappeared after taking one last glance toward the blogger.

John woke up a day later with an evident pain in his head and abdomen. "How do you feel?"

"Mentally or physically?" Watson looked up to find Mycroft leaning against his umbrella.

"About the accident."

John rolled his eyes, but then regretted it. "Both of them have the same answer."

"John, were you coming back from Sherlock's grave? I understand it has been a year and all, but-"

The blogger weakly waved off Holmes, "You and the rest of the world may be able to get over it so easily, but he-he kept me going. He gave me a reason to live again. After the war it went downhill and I never thought it could go up again."

"It will get better and just because I don't show that I'm suffering, I am." Mycroft lied.

"Mycroft?" John questioned. "I think I saw him, I mean I think my mind is playing games with me. Before I was hit, I was sure that he yelled my name. I saw him. Am I crazy?"

"No, it's normal to think you see the ones you love that have been lost. Don't worry about it, John. Now I have a meeting, but I will come by tomorrow."

"Goodbye."

"Bye."

The next day went by painfully slowly. People came to keep John Company, but the one person he wanted to speak to the most never showed. Finally Mrs. Hudson came by one day to retrieve the blogger and bring him back to the flat. "I'm fine, really." John argued as he glared at the wheelchair.

"Doctor Watson, it is hospital protocol that you leave here in a wheelchair," the nurse argued.

Eventually a grumpy John was placed in the moving chair heading to cabbie outside. The ride went by with Mrs. Hudson talking about her week. The man had his head leaning against the chilled window.

Finally John was back in the perfect little flat. He missed the atmosphere of the cozy home, but it was still missing something or better yet someone. Watson limped toward the couch and delicately placed himself on the sofa. He winced slightly, but tried to ignore it. Before he noticed the little man was passed out, asleep.

Sherlock Holmes secretly stood in the darkened corner of the room. He watched the man limp toward the couch and how he winced from pain. Sherlock stood and watched, never moving or allowing John to know the truth. The tall man stared as though he was hypnotized by his friend's appearance.

Holmes brow furrowed as John called out in his sleep. "No, Sherlock." A whimper escaped the blogger's lips.

The lanky figure stepped out of the shadow, standing in front of the couch. He knelt and put his hand on John's cheek, trying to sooth hm. "It's alright, John. You're safe and so am I. It is only a matter of time." A half smile crossed his lips as the doctor leaned into the warm touch.

Sherlock stood and made his way toward the door not knowing how long he would be back, if he could come back. It was just a matter of time before John and he could be reunited. Sherlock Holmes began the countdown of when he could encounter his best friend again.

A/N

Well that's it. I don't really know where I was going with it, but I guess it's alright. This is only a one shot unless most of you want me to continue on with it. Thanks for reading!


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